


Lament of the Dunedain

by Eryntar



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angmar War, Badass Ladies, Boromir Lives, Boromir is a walking sack of angst, But we still love him, Chaotic Good, Dark. Like really dark., Eventual Romance, F/M, Nightmares, Nitty gritty Dunedain goodness, Post-War of the Ring, Prophetic Dreams, So much angst, Tragedy, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:35:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28521762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eryntar/pseuds/Eryntar
Summary: A Dunedain Ranger with the gift of foresight finds herself tangled in the fate of the Son of Gondor following several strange dreams plagued with shadow and merciless grief. Yet trouble brews in her Northern homeland, and she comes to realize that sometimes, one has to abandon all duty to kin and kith in order to pursue their higher destiny. But at what cost? A Boromir Lives fic exploring Dunedain culture, with a fair sprinkling of Dol Amroth for kicks. Get ready for some angst parties, badassery, and Imrahil love.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. Cries in the Night

**Author's Note:**

> Oooook so here is the thing. I started this fic 5 years ago? Longer? Something ridiculous like that. I originally posted in 2016 but then life got really lifey and I had to set this child of mine aside. She never stopped nagging at me though, and after two undergrad major changes, a complete mental breakdown, escaping to New Zealand for a few months, and of course a global pandemic I am BACK AT IT.  
> Please bear with me as I regain my footing here, these first few chapters need some heavy rewriting to fit in with my new vision, but honestly I am just so happy to be writing again. If you enjoyed this fic, or would like to beta, send me a lil comment or message and I will get back to you :) or bug me at my insta @leepicginge.   
> Thanks for reading :) I hope you enjoy!

Tom Bombadil has never been an easy character to gain information from. Dealings with the peculiar man typically involve copious amounts of irrelevant talk about his run ins with badgers and nefarious trees, and any useful knowledge is tangled up in riddles and song. Getting to his dwelling is also a tricky riddle - one has to either risk losing themselves amongst the murderous trees of the Old Forest or become victim to the Barrow Wight's merciless possessive hunger.

However, Bombadil's knowledge about Arnor and her comings and goings has proven to be too important to ignore, and as much as we try not to take advantage of it, his and Goldberry's hospitality is always impeccable. Sadly, it is not every day that we Rangers get to enjoy a full spread, complete with bread, butter, and mead, nor do we often have the privilege of falling asleep with our heads upon a feathered pillow. While a life spent silently protecting the free peoples of Arnor is rewarding, the Wilds do not offer the physical comforts that those we protect often get to enjoy.

Because of these promised comforts, my brother Olbron and I were not too displeased when Halbarad instructed us to check in on the old man during our return journey from the North Downs. Although the trek through the northern reaches of Arnor was grueling and left us wanting the comforts of home, we were intent on following through with his orders. An order from Halbarad, we knew, was just as official as one from the Chieftain himself.

But, of course, our younger companion was not as convinced.

"Come now, we all know that letting me stay in Bree is the wisest option." Amhrod said, once again trying to wheedle his way out of traveling across the Barrow Downs.

"If you say anything of that sort one more time, lad, I'll cut out your tongue and feed it to Butterbur's dogs." I growled. This was his fifth attempt since we'd set out this morning, and the combination of the freezing rain that had started two hours back and his incessant complaining was fraying my nerves.

"Amhrod, you know as well as I do that nothing productive will come out of that plan." Olbron chided.

Amhrod rolled his eyes, "you forget how much can be overheard in the Prancing Pony. Gossip practically seeps from every crack in those walls, what with all the travelers and nosy townsfolk."

"Gossip cannot be used effectively if the listener is as drunk as an orc." I grumbled, shooting an accusatory glare at the young Ranger. He responded with a sheepish grin, before arguing,

"So, you doubt my ability to remain sober during a time of need?"

"Ability?" I snorted, "how can I doubt an ability that does not even exist? The only ones who are going to gain from this little side-trip of yours will be the brothel managers and barkeeps."

Amhrod let out a sharp bark of laughter, "five years ago, your beliefs would hold true. But I am a changed man, Istuinn! Trust me as you would trust your other comrades. I have never seen you give this much grief to Braigiar or Trahern, and especially not your brother."

"That is because the four of us have been training and fighting together since we could each hold our first practice sword. You should have seen the men leading US on our first missions. Compared to them, I'm cuddly."

"She's right you know," Olbron added, "remember Diareth, sister? That man could freeze me to my very core with a singular glance."

With a wistful smile, I recalled Diareth's dagger-sharp glares.

"He once sent Braigiar on a lone mission to the Ettenmoors because he caught him asleep in his own vomit after a very lively, very not-allowed night in the Prancing Pony," I said with a small chuckle, "luckily, myself and Olbron had been sober enough to jump the gate and sneak back into base-camp without any notice."

"I don't believe a single second of your tale. Very out of character." Amhrod argued.

"Every Ranger in these lands has been a rascal at some point." Olbron reminded him, "I bet even Diareth had his moments of mirth, however long ago they were."

"I'm confused, are you two now saying that I can go to Bree?"

"No." Olbron and I chimed.

"Fine then," Amhrod conceded with a little eye roll, "you two have won once again. But I'm sure I'll be able to change your minds once we reach town."

Finally, with our sixth argument of the morning finished, the three of us continued to ride in silence through the cutting rain. A heavy fog had now settled upon the rolling hills on either side of the horse-path we followed, dense white fingers creeping across the grassy, grey knolls and obstructing our view of the Greenway that ran a few hundred feet to our left. Despite the fog, the sound of twittering birds still reached us from a copse of trees on our other side. Sparlings, robins, and sparrows huddled together amongst the yellowing leaves, periodically shaking their feathers free of raindrops. Olbron watched them intently with his keen green eyes, listening in on their little secrets.

All three of us were soaked from the tips of our hoods to the toes of our boots, and if it weren't for the treated leather of our saddlebags and packs, our blankets, foodstuffs, and the other curiosities we carried with us about these lands would have been swimming by now. Certainly not prime traveling weather, but the skies of Arnor were seldom generous when it came to sunlight and clear skies.

We should have been watching these raindrops patter on the windowpanes of a warm, toasty cabin, rather than riding through them. That had, of course, been the initial plan when we first set off towards the North Downs two months ago. Our original route had been to sweep around to the eastern side of the Weather Hills, carry on to the northern-most tip of the North Downs, and then loop around for a quick survey of Lake Evendim and the lands around it. There used to be a small fishing village on the North-west tip of the lake that served as an outpost, and our orders had been to remain there for a fortnight. Halbarad had wanted us to touch base with a few of the Dunedain who'd made Emyn Uial their permanent residence, find out if they knew anything of the strange happenings of late, and possibly convince some of the younger lads to return to the Angle so as to strengthen our numbers. It was a solid plan on Hal's part, and I am sure Olbron would have been able to convince at least a dozen men with that golden tongue of his.

Only, the fishing village had been long burnt to the ground.

And not a single soul, Dunedain or otherwise, graced those hills.

To say that we were worried would have been an understatement.

A wet, miserable day could, of course, only lead to a wet, miserable night. Though the rain had stopped by the time we'd found shelter, the earth where we wished to place our bedrolls was still damp and loamy.

"Amhrod, go fetch some branches while Istuinn and I cook up some dinner. The trees here have provided some shelter from the rain, but the ground is still far too wet to sleep on." Olbron ordered while attempting to start a fire at the roots of an old oak tree. I watched, a sense of unease slowly curling around my stomach as my butts swirled and shifted in the blackening sky above us. At last, a spark caught, and a little, lone flame began to dance amongst the tinder placed about the few drier logs we could scavenge. Olbron smiled at his craft, and I pulled out our last half-loaf of bread from my saddlebag, along with a small pouch of dried pork. Out of Olbron's pack, I retrieved a few apples, and soon he got to work, coarsely slicing up the bread, apples, and pork so that they could all fry together over the now toasty fire. A rich savory smell emanated from the frying pan, replacing the earthy tang of rain and soil.

"What troubles you so, sister? Another one of your headaches?"

I frowned, "No. Something feels off. Something in the air. It feels heavy, almost, as if my butts were trying to press down upon us. Don't you feel it?"

Olbron paused his frying for a moment, face pensive, "I do feel rather odd, but not in the way you have described. My heart feels as though it is wound about with a dozen tight strings... Can't say it is an enjoyable feeling to have."

"We're still half a day's ride from the Barrows... We shouldn't be able to feel their effects from here, right?"

"No," Olbron answered, "Perhaps Bombadil will know? That man knows the movements of every single creature in these parts."

The thought of some unknown beast wandering this close to the Shire struck another dose of fear into my heart, and the hunger previously gnawing at my belly dissipated.

Right on our left, there was a sudden thrashing in the thicket. In the span of a second, my knife was drawn, and Olbron was standing menacingly in the firelight with his sword pointed at the rustling bushes. In his eyes, I could discern a glint of fear. A dark shape was moving towards us, its many bent limbs tearing at the underbrush as it crashed about. Olbron gulped behind me, and the roiling fear in my belly burned like vengeful hot coals

At last, the horrific creature came into the wavering light of the fire, and I nearly laughed. Standing before us was a very befuddled Amhrod, his arms full of twiggy branches.

"If you guys were THIS irritated with me, you should have said something." He grumbled, eying our blades nervously. Olbron let out a slow breath, and the two of us brought down our weapons, though my mind was still troubled.

"Mistook you for a bear." Olbron chuckled, and with an alarmed cry, he knelt back down before the fire to rescue our burning dinner.

"So I do need a shave..." Amhrod said, rubbing at his patchy stubble. I responded with a wry smirk, and took a few of the branches he'd collected from his arms. While Olbron scraped what he could off of the pan into a few earthenware bowls, the younger lad and I laid down a giant bed of branches to provide a bit of separation between the ground and our bedrolls.

"Alright, it isn't much, but it will sure taste better than anything Istuinn can cook up." Olbron chuckled, before handing the two of us our bowls. Despite the charred apples, I thoroughly agreed with him. As many in our company had learned the hard way, my cooking was absolutely horrific. Many claimed that it was nearly as bad as my fathers, and I held that compliment with pride.

After our supper, Amhrod washed up the bowls and pan, while Olbron and I checked that the horses were properly fed and hobbled. Halefael, my own steed, was sporting a nasty scar down her right flank, a wound which she'd earned in an orc skirmish a few months back down near Dunland. It snaked, pink and shiny, through her coarse dark hair, so small that only I had the eye for it. For a good fifteen minutes I brushed the grime from her coat, speaking soothing words as I ran the soft brush down her neck. All three of the horses were abnormally skittish tonight, and I wondered if their nervousness was linked to the fear Olbron and I had felt earlier. Still, there was a slight tightness about my stomach, a sign that the anxiety had not completely left.

"Wake me in a few hours time, Amhrod. You're taking first watch tonight." I ordered upon returning to the fireside. Olbron was already snoring in his bedroll, and just watching his gentle breathing made my eyelids heavy.

"Yes, mamn." He said, sarcasm colouring his voice. I didn't grace him with a response.

The sounds of a gently crackling fire and the last falling drops of rain accompanied my drift into sleep. Nightly noises. Peaceful. And nothing like what I would hear on the wind in my dreams.

_Fog, impenetrable, dark as the shadows beneath forgotten tombs. It snakes across grey, empty grasslands, claws its way up and across the highest peaks, until all the world is entombed in permanent dusk._

_Someone is crying in the lonely night, their hopeless voice echoing, unanswered, in halls that have neither felt the warmth of the sun, nor the caress of the wind. The stagnant air smells of brimstone, and something stirs in the deep forgotten places of the world, and its heart is full of malice._

_Now his cries waver in the thin air of a golden wood. Where peace was sought, only unrest is found. There is a great battle beneath his wordless pleas, one that wrenches at his mind, his heart. It curls around his voice, reducing his calls to something tired and desperate. He is losing._

_At last, his cries shrivel into a mere whimper, barely heard over a great rushing of water. I reach out to him, try to call out, to answer, but the tides freeze my bones, pull at my limbs, until I am falling, falling, falling into a great wide chasm where not even the light of the stars can be seen._

_And the darkness takes over again, engulfing everything I have ever known. I can no longer hear his cries. I can no longer answer. All is silent._

_Out of the silence, another call begins. But this, I know, is not an answer to his pleas. This call saws at the air, tears at the thick fabric of shadow to reveal nine figures, cloaks blacker than night. It slashes through my being, sharp, full of jagged edges. I want to recoil away, but my limbs have been pulled into the blackness. I cannot move. I cannot see. I can only hear, and sense the figures creeping closer, can feel their swords ripping through my body, can smell the dank evil in their bre-_

I was awoken, drenched in sweat, by a terrible sense of dread that had wormed its freezing way into my very core. Amhrod was standing on the edge of camp, gazing out into the night with troubled eyes. He clutched his blade with a white-knuckled grip, and every fiber of his being was stiff with tension.

"You can sense it too." I whispered. He jumped a little, before turning to me,

"Wake Olbron. We are being watched."

Olbron, unbeknownst to us, was already awake, and upon hearing our words sat up. His fair face was contorted with anxiety, and with a nod of his head, gestured to the fire, "put it out, and quickly. They may know our location by now, but it should give us time to flee."

"Flee?" I asked, eyes searching for darker shadows in the night, "No, I don't think we should flee. Something in my heart tells me that it is not us they seek." A brief image of two figures, brandishing fire by a river's edge, fluttered across my mind's eye, and I quickly added, "on second thought, throw on another log."

"But that would only draw them to us, like moths to a flame!" Amhrod cried, regarding me as if I were daft. I shook my head,

"No, no it wouldn't. Fire is our friend. Whatever watches us is likely a creature of the night. To hide in the shadows would only level the playing field."

"You propose to wait it out, then?" Olbron asked, now standing beside Amhrod and peering out into the darkness.

"I do."

We exchanged an uneasy look, but neither man challenged my opinion. Olbron threw another log onto the fire, just as I'd suggested, and the gentle hiss of the burning wood was the only sound that filled the dark void about us. In the dancing light of the flames, their faces seemed jagged and hollow, the shadows beneath both pairs of anxiety-ridden eyes a deep purple.

For a long time the three of us remained stock still, ears trained for any noise past the now crackling fire, hairs standing on the backs of our necks. Dread sent nausea and pain coursing through me. But still, I remained sitting by the fire, ever vigilant, ever watchful. We were locked in a deadly contest with whatever was watching us: the first one to make a move and break cover was the loser. What would be lost was another question all together.

And then, just as the feeling of terror began to recede, that same screech that I'd heard in my dreams rang out over the winding hills and valleys of Eriador. Every one of us cried out, even Olbron, and I covered my ears with my hands in an attempt to save myself from the sawing wails. The unearthly scream was then joined by another voice, one that was even closer to where we sat. It felt as though a million tiny knives were piercing every inch of my skull, and I fell limp to the ground without another thought.

It felt like an age of the earth had passed before the screams stopped. I found myself face down on the ground, the damp earth cool and sticky where my forehead pressed into it. Limbs weak and shaking, I managed to push myself upright, only to see both Amhrod and Olbron doing the same. For a few minutes we did not stand, did not speak, but merely looked about the shadows in bewilderment.

Whatever it was that stalked us had fled, and we were alone once more.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

Olbron was staring about the morning-bright clearing, exhaustion and disappointment warring on his face. Amhrod crossed his arms, rather put out by the whole affair,

"There must be some sort of trail. Last night was not a dream, we all heard _it,_ whatever _it_ was, and I'm sure these lands cannot be haunted. No Wight would walk this far from his barrow."

"No Wight would make such a horrendous sound, either." Olbron concluded. With a slump in his shoulders, he mounted his horse, stepping into the stirrup and swinging his other leg over the worn and dirtied leather saddle he'd been using for too many years, "come, we must be off. We're approaching the noon hour, and still have many a mile to go before reaching the borders of Bombadil's lands."

"And that will be another adventure altogether." I grumbled, sending a little nudge into Halaefel's sides. With a small toss of her blonde hair, she started into a light trot, and the other horses quickly followed suit.

Our horses knew the ways of these lands, the rises and falls of the broad hills, the nameless streams that snaked through heather and brush, the rough patches of swamp, rock, and bush, and so I let Halaefel steadily pick her path southwards while I lightly dozed in the saddle. Her footing was sure, and my reflexes quick, so no matter how deep I fell into a dose during our rides, there was little risk in falling out of the saddle, or being caught off guard by whatever foes walked our lands. Of course, I tried not to sleep in the saddle, especially in the wilder portions of Eriador, but after the events of last night, we all needed a rest.

After the screamers had moved on from our campsite, we'd discovered that our horses had bolted, so a good portion of the night had been spent tracking the spooked creatures down, and the other half was spent in a sleepless paralysis. Too tired to sit and converse, and yet too alert to fall into a state of rest, the three of us had spent the rest of the night lying in our bedrolls, each rolling the same question over and over in our minds: what sort of creature could make such a ghastly sound, and why was it wandering loose just north of the Shire?

Even now, in the late morning sunshine, I had not a single clue. I was too afraid to delve deep enough into the old tales and myths I'd been told as a child for an answer. Perhaps it was because I knew that no monster from the tales of my youth could match the freezing dread this new beast stirred in me.

Despite the beautiful fall morning unfolding about us, we were a very disgruntled trio of Rangers. Looking back over my shoulder, I saw a deep scowl on Amhrod's boyish face as he tried, to no avail, to wipe the sleep from his eyes. Olbron did not look that much cheerier, but his expression held less anger, appearing to be almost pensive at times. He was likely replaying the events of this morning's search for tracks in his mind, going over every patch of earth, just to affirm he didn't miss a singular hoof print or wayward blade of grass.

I felt sorry for my dear brother. As leader of our squadron, he was likely blaming himself for letting the creatures escape into the wilds, direction and purpose unknown. If anyone were to suffer at their hands, I knew he would feel personably responsible for it, as would I. For a moment I considered trying to reassure him that Aragorn would not hold us so, that he would understand our hesitation if he too could experience the absolute dread that those beasts had stirred in our hearts. But Olbron and I were alike in that such reassurances would only fall upon closed ears. I allowed him to keep agonizing over all the little missed details, and in that silence I too fretted over what this could mean for the safety of Arnor.

We continued riding this way throughout the afternoon, with Amhrod occasionally humming small snippets of song to himself, him being the least vexed of us three. At long last, the warming rays of the autumn sun began to lift our spirits, and by the time we caught sight of the tended farmlands surrounding Bree-land, Amhrod was telling us a ridiculous story about a house call from the last time he visited the bustling town,

"So she answers the door, wearing nothing but her underskirts, and I can just _feel_ my chin drop. 'Someone said you were calling for aid?' I asked, and you should have seen the look in those eyes of hers. Absolutely mystifying. She must have been foreign or something of the sort, and those HIPS!"

"Amhrod, the story." I chuckled, looking back to see him riding along with a look of utmost contentment on his face.

"Right! The story. Anyways, so she doesn't even answer, just grabs my hand and pulls me right over the threshold. At this point I know this is no normal house-call, because in seconds she's got my back up against the wall and her hands are unbuckling my sword-belt.

'I guess you could say that, but perhaps it is aid of a different sort' she says to me, and I don't know whether to feel excited, terrified, or both."

"Am I the only one finding this somewhat hard to believe?" Olbron said with a chuckle. I gave him a wry smile before continuing to watch the road, which was now becoming busy with farmers and travelers alike.

"You're just jealous. Tell me, Olbron, have you ever been ravished by an idle housewife of immense beauty and grace? I think not."

"Tell him about Liliet, brother. I think that tale will shut the young lad's trap." I remarked with a satisfied smirk. Olbron let out a short bark of laughter, and before long, he was deep within the retelling of one of the most scandalous years of our lives. Thankfully, he left out how he and Liliet ended up alone in the woods in the first place. Even mentioning Halbarad and I's disappearance during the hunt would have required far too much explanation than I was comfortable with right now.

At last, with the sun sitting comfortably between her zenith and the horizon, we reached the West gate of Bree.

"Do we need to restock on any supplies before starting for Bombadil's?" I asked, warily eyeing those passing through the open gate. Farmers, their wagons full of today's unsold wares, pushed past us without a friendly greeting or glance, while younger farmhands swam against the retreating crowd towards the Prancing Pony. A few well-armed men remained at attention on either side of the gate, and from them we received nothing but unfriendly glares. I was starting to get the feeling that something had happened to upset the order of Bree-land, and my memory returned to the ghastly screams we'd heard last night. For a brief moment we stood in silent contemplation at the side of the bustling thoroughfare, very aware of the hostility being directed towards us. At long last, Amhrod dismounted and regarded us both with a determined grin.

"You two continue on. There is some devilry at work here, and I genuinely believe one of us should remain here for the night, listen around, perhaps share a word or two with the townsfolk. We've been up North for a few months now, anything could have happened while we were away." At Olbron and I's shared look of hesitation, he quickly held up his hands, "I promise not to get belligerently drunk tonight. Yes, I'll have a pint or two, but I swear I will keep both my eyes and my ears open. Tonight, I am on the job."

I contemplated his words for a few moments. Amhrod's track record was not promising, and I was worried about him possibly escalating the already hostile situation through any wayward action if he should drink an extra pint or five of ale as he was apt to do. At the same time, however, he did have a strong point. It was impertinent that we return to the Angle as fast as possible, and the Prancing Pony was a valuable hub of gossip for our corner of the world. If anything HAD happened in the past few months to further sour the Bree-landers opinions of us, Amhrod would certainly find out tonight. That, and other travellers often carried with them valuable tidings about the lands east of the mountains.

"Fine. But I am holding you to this promise of yours." I said, giving him a pointed stare.

"I'm sure Butterbur will be able to comment on your performance if we jog his memory enough." Olbron added. Amhrod grinned at the both of us, and I mentally slapped myself for giving in to his whims once again, even though it was for the best. I had to admit it, the lad knew how to wheedle his way in and out of situations.

"Farewell then, friends! Aa' menle nauva calen ar' ta hwesta e' ale'quenle, and good luck! Keep safe, and don't let any Wights sneak up on you this time." And, with one last short bark of a laughter, Amhrod turned and led his dappled horse between the disgruntled guards, tattered green cloak quickly melting into the mid-afternoon crowds. Olbron shook his head with a small sigh,

"If he so much as causes one little tiff of trouble tonight, Halbarad will have our hides."

I shook my head, "Amhrod is old enough now, Hal knows we can no longer be held responsible for his actions. I don't think the pup will ever truly learn in our shadow. We need to give him some independence if he is to grow. Remember how we were, brother?"

"I suppose. I'm just worried, given the current circumstances."

With one last calculated glance at the busy streets of Bree, Olbron and I turned our horses about and began to make our way Westwards, where long, low hills marched far beyond the horizon, gold in the light of the westering autumn sun.


	2. Impatience is thy Curse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post because I am shameless and why the fuck not.  
> Also, writing Bombadil is just way too much fun and I figured out how to do INDENTATIONS but only for certain sections? Honestly have no clue. Enjoy the words anyways.

We stood before the first sloping arms of the Barrow Downs, frowning at the sun’s receding rays as she continued to sink closer to the Western Horizon.

“Perhaps we should turn back for Bree and try crossing in the morning, lest the night catches us” Olbron murmured, scanning the heather-crowned hills for the infamous white stones that warned of barrows underneath. Impatient from prior delays, and itching to speak to Bombadil, I nudged Halaefel a little closer to the swell of the first hill,

“If the Sun should fail us, we’ll have the light of Ithil and Elbereth’s many stars to guide us along.”

“But what of the fog, sister?” Olbron argued, “Do you not remember the last time we tried crossing this late?”

“Yes, I do _actually_. I remember stumbling through said fog for a good hour or so before coming out completely unhindered into Bombadil’s garden. Stop worrying so, we’ve done it before and we can do it again.”

Olbron sighed in frustration, “that is terrible reasoning on your end.”

“Terrible, yes. Impossible, no. Nothing can take us unawares in these lands, brother, and the night promises to be mild and clear.”

The second those words passed my lips, I regretted them, and Olbron knew it. He gave me a skeptical look, before focusing his gaze on the setting sun,

“I don’t understand how you could have so easily forgotten those screams. Here you are, sounding so bloody certain of yourself, when just last night you were quaking in your boots from fear.”

“We were all afraid.” I countered, trying to keep my voice from rising in frustration, “after last night, the thought of some Wights strikes less terror in my heart than the memory of what my mind’s eye conjured upon hearing those screams.”

But Olbron would not let it go, and beneath his rising anger I could hear the fear that was driving his obstinance.

“And what if it catches us on the Downs? What if it is in league with the Wights? Amhrod’s parting words could prove truer than we’d like. I am not sure about you, but I would like to see another dawn, preferably not streaming in from the doors of a tomb.”

At last, in frustration, I turned Halaefel around to face my brother, who caught my gaze with his sharp green eyes, identical to mine and currently pointed in a glare,

“You’re being cowardly.”

Unphased, he replied, “and you’re being pig-headed.”

With a snort of anger, I looked back to the Sun, which stalked ever closer to the edge of the earth as we bickered the evening away. Those bleak, white stones stared right back at us from atop their tombs, mocking our indecisiveness, taunting me to just leave my worrisome brother behind and journey the shifting paths alone.

“Fine then. You can turn back and spend the night in Bree with Amhrod if you so wish, but either way I’m going to cross these Downs and take council with Bombadil. Even if I have to do it alone.”

With that, I nudged Halaefel forwards another few steps, but without a second of delay, Olbron wheeled his steed so as to block my path. _Knew that would work,_ I thought, smirking.

“Not a chance.”

“Ah, so you are coming, then?”

“Do I have any other choice?” Olbron exclaimed, frustrated, “I would rather my stubborn arse of a sister be alive than rotting in a pile of forgotten treasure. Let’s just get on with it already.”

Smirk widening, I spurred Halaefel ahead of Olbron and dived between the weathered slopes of two bordering hills. At once, a hush fell over the landscape. It was pleasant at first, a welcome change from the noisy chatter and bartering we’d heard at the gates of Bree. A bird twittered here and there, but otherwise, nothing but the wind whistling across the downs could be heard.

For a while, we fought off the stillness with apologies and pleasant conversation, but after an hour, as the hills grew steadily taller and engulfed us in their shadows, our voices eventually fell silent, squashed by the dense air that seemed to press down on us. The birds stopped twittering, the wind stopped howling, and soon enough we were suffocating beneath a thick blanket of silence. It was about this time, too, that a light fog began to roll in from the North, and in an effort not to get separated, Olbron took a length of rope and tied it to the horns of both of our saddles. At first, I could not help but roll my eyes at his obvious concern, but as the fog grew heavier, I became quite grateful for the security that rope seemed to provide.

Two hours into our crossing, I could barely see three feet ahead of me. Vague outlines of hills and boulders were all that could be spotted in the gloom, and above our heads, only two stars were bright enough to fight against the swirling mists and be seen. _So much for our guiding lights,_ I thought. Never in my 56 years had I seen a fog this dense, not even in these parts.

Halaefel was slowly picking her way down the steep slope of one of the numerous larger hills when I spotted a curious little light ahead. It shone out, a vague yellow halo in the mists to my right, and letting out a cry of relief, I nudged Halaefel’s right flank and veered her in that direction. _Finally, a way out of this blasted fog!_ But, instead of continuing into the shallow valley, the light led us across the length of the hill, until disappearing completely.

“Could that have been him?” Olbron called from behind.

“Maybe.” I answered, voice swallowed by the fog. But then, wouldn’t have Bombadil made his presence known to us? Every other we’d met with the man, it was his song that alerted us of his presence, rather than the sight of his feathered hat. Even this fog did not have the ability to absorb his powerful songs, and I began to doubt the little yellow halo that had since returned.

“Let’s keep riding into the valley, sister.” Olbron called again, and without another word, I turned Halaefel around so as to continue riding downhill.

When we reached the bottom, I stopped dead in my tracks, a cold snake of dread wrapping around my heart.

“Olbron, which direction are we going in?”

No answer.

“Olbron?”

Heart racing, I turned about in the saddle and noticed that the rope that had once held us together hung lack at my side.

“Olbron!”

Still nothing. There were no other shapes in the swirling mist about me other than the vague outline of two standing stones on either side of my path. Not a single soul could be found in the white tendrils that snaked about me, and for a solid two minutes I cursed the fog and cursed my own stupidity for even trying to cross these Downs so close to nightfall. It wasn’t until that moment when I realized how soaked I was, on top of everything else that was going wrong. Water droplets fell from the brim of my hood and ran down the back of my neck in long rivulets, and beneath my woolen tunic and leather jerkin my skin felt cool and clammy, as if coated with a thick film of cold sweat. 

Just then, a weak, terrified cry of pain sounded from just beyond the stones, and my heart nearly exploded in my chest with terror. Pushed onwards by a sudden surge of adrenaline and overwhelming guilt that my stubbornness might have been the cause of my brother’s demise, I urged Halaefel further down the path. Ears pressed flat against her head, the poor horse passed through the stones, and I could feel her tremble beneath my saddle.

Another cry managed to tear through the fog, and I tried to get Halaefel to walk a few steps closer to the source of the noise, but she refused to go any further, eyes rolling.

“Dratted horse.” I grunted through gritted teeth, nearly kicking her as a myriad of fear, impatience, anger, and self-loathing swelled in my breast. She took two last tentative steps forwards, but just as I thought we were about to make some progress, a wraith-like scream tore into the air from what sounded to be miles away. Before I could grab a hold of the reigns, the poor horse screamed and bolted down the pathway, throwing me from the saddle. My hip smarted as it struck the ground, and I let out a small series of curses as it instantly began to throb. Envisioning the bruise that was already developing on my hip bone, I pried myself from the ground, drew my blades, and took off down the path in the direction Halaefel fled. My boots squelched in the muddy ground, and as my pace increased I struggled to breathe in the heavy air. Without any thought, I began running up a sloping incline. The cry sounded again, and I let my voice ring out as far as it could go in answer,

“Olbron!”

With an image of my dear brother being dragged into a Wight’s barrow and to his gruesome death playing repeatedly in my mind, I sprinted up the remainder of the hill, voice hoarse with screaming his name. As if breaking the surface of the deep ocean waters, I emerged from a sea of fog and found myself cresting the highest hill in the Downs. With a sinking heart, I gazed at the circle of white, jagged stones that ran the rim of the hill, sticking out of the sickly grass like rotten teeth. Overhead, the cold apathetic moon shone bright and clear, and in its light I could see vague shapes emerging from the other side of the hill.

“Beloved Eru, edraith enni!” I cried out in horror, watching the shadows materialize into the shapes of rotting men holding great and terrible blades. I pointed my hand-and-half sword to them in challenge, but my arm was trembling in fear and new-found exhaustion, and my grip upon the pommel was sweaty. _They will rue the day they set eyes on us_ , I thought, praying to every god that they hadn’t already slain Olbron. Praying to every god that they would not slay me.

But, before I could meet my foe, there was a great bellow from behind me, and a short, stocky man came barreling into the clearing, clad in bright yellow boots and a jaunty hat.

“You be leaving this frightened Ranger alone, you roguish Wights! Return to your Barrows and sleep! You should not be waking.” Bombadil cried, and without a second’s hesitation the Wights melted away into the shadows from whence they came. Bombadil gave a little wave of his weathered hand, and I turned to see Olbron sitting there atop his horse, completely unscathed and holding Halaefael’s reins. I nearly cried with relief and judging by how his anxiety-ridden face melted into a relieved smile at the sight of me, I could tell that he held the same sentiment.

Bombadil quickly joined us, peering at our faces with those uncanny blue eyes of his. They held much mirth as he took both of our hands in his, and a great rush of warmth spread up my arm and throughout my frozen body,

“Travelers should not be wandering in these parts,” he finally chuckled, “not even travelers of the likes of you! Come, follow Old Tom past these wretched hills, a feast has been laid out, and Goldberry is waiting.”

Down the hill he sprang, and with the last bit of strength left in my limbs, I swung up into my saddle and urged Halaefel to follow him. She did so gleefully, and despite being plunged back into the fog, she trailed his exact tracks. Olbron rode directly behind me, and I caught myself looking back to make sure he was still there every few minutes. Every time, he caught my eye, and I knew there was going to be much quarrelling and apologizing upon reaching Bombadil and Goldberry’s home.

We’d been saved from a foolish end by the very man we’d been sent to see, no less, and the thought of soft bread and butter was the only thing keeping me astride Halaefel as we clove through the last clouds of fog. Up ahead, Old Tom was whistling a merry tune, and it was his song that kept our hearts aloft as we plunged through the last few tendrils of mist.

And then there before us, the fog suddenly melted away, stood the house of Tom and Goldberry. Warm candlelight shone from every window, and a clear song, like the trickle of a merry stream, wound its way from the home and into our waiting ears.

We’d made it, and I was in serious trouble.

Inside, everything was warm, homey, and bright. Innumerable oil lamps hung from the oaken rafters, some of painted clay, some of sparkling metals, and some of finely wrought glass. A fire was cracking merrily in the sitting room, and candles glimmered in every corner where the light of the lamps could not reach. The air was fragrant with the delicate smell of lilies, which were scattered about the dining room floor in small ceramic pots, and there were notes of honey and golden-baked bread as well. Tom was singing away in the stables, while Goldberry could be heard puttering about in the small kitchen just off of the dining room. All was soft and soothing compared to the horrors of outside, and at once I felt a calm wash over me.

Smile as broad as the sun, Goldberry emerged from the kitchen, dusting her fair hands upon an embroidered apron,

“Be welcome, weary travelers! There are basins for washing and beds for sleeping just waiting down the hall, but first we must dine. Sit and rest awhile, Tom is nearly finished!”

We eagerly heeded her fair words, and without further delay, placed our saddlebags and packs by the door and sat, safe at last, at the finely carved dinner table. I drew a small whetting knife and a vaguely wolf-shaped nugget of wood from my belt pouch, and in an attempt to avoid conversation with my brother while we waited, began to chip away at the head of the carving. Without even looking up, I could feel the waves of exasperation rolling off of him and across the table. That alone gave me even more initiative to keep carving, so with great concentration I moved on to what would be snout of the wolf, having just finished the ears. While it was rough in comparison to what Halbarad could coax out of wood, it was enough to keep my mind and hands busy.

“Istuinn.”

I didn’t look up.

“ _Istuinn_ ”. This time, there was a note of vexation in Olbron’s voice.

“Yes brother?” I asked sweetly, glancing up at him from my carving. Olbron opened his mouth, an accusation on his tongue, when Bombadil and Goldberry bustled in from the kitchen. With a look that screamed “I’m not letting this go”, Olbron got up to grab a few dishes out of Goldberry’s full arms.

Platters laden with fresh bread, cream, butter, honey, and the last of the summer berries were laid out upon the table, along with a bowl of root vegetables roasted in delicate herbs. Bombadil took his place at the head of the table with Goldberry across from him, and without further ado the four of us dug in. All feelings of animosity between Olbron and I vanished as we savoured our first real supper in months.

Upon my tongue, the bread was spongy and subtly-sweet, the butter fresh and creamy. I could have eaten the entire loaf to myself if my dining companions hadn’t taken their own fair shares. Everything else was just as delicious, of course, but bread and butter had always been a weakness of mine.

Looking up from my meal, I noticed that Olbron had taken nearly half of the potatoes and carrots. They were glistening with extra butter, and I suppressed a small chuckle as he tried to force too large of a forkful into his mouth. Bombadil was watching Olbron with a curious glint in his eyes, as an amused uncle may watch his nephew open a gift made especially for him.

By the time Olbron and I had had our fill; Goldberry was already clearing away the empty dishes and boiling water for washing. My stomach was full to bursting for the first time in what must have been five years, and nursing a small mug of mead, I relaxed back into my chair with a satisfied sigh. Every cord of fear that had wrapped around my chest out in the Barrow Downs had at last loosened, and all was warm and content. Pushing his plate away, Bombadil regarded me with his beguiling blue eyes.

“Do not get too comfortable yet, Northern Ranger. You have come here for reasons unknown to me, and your eyes hold questions that beg an answering. Come, let us warm our feet by the fire. The night stretches long before us.”

I almost wanted to retire then and there, and move our councils to the morning, but I knew from past experience that conversations with Bombadil could be unbearably long, and there was a strong chance that we would be taking advantage of his hospitality for two nights instead of one if I just upped and went to bed when I pleased. Olbron yawned, seeming to hold the same sentiment, but without argument, we stood and followed Bombadil into the sitting room, where five cushioned chairs, carved from fair oak and pine, sat before the hearth in which a merry fire crackled. Once Tom had taken his seat in the ancient green armchair of his choice, I sank into the chair on his right, while Olbron took the spot next to me and closest to the fire. The air was warm and smoky, and the cushions comfortable beyond belief, and a feeling of calm and contentment washed over me, so strong that I nearly sank into a doze. _I wonder if any of our brethren in the South have devised travelling armchairs yet…_ But, before my thoughts could continue down that curious road, Bombadil let out a hearty laugh,

“Here here! My guests were so hasty in their coming that they now fall asleep when what they sought is being offered. There will be much time for rest, but not ‘til after we’ve had our chat! Now wake, and let us start talking.”

At Tom’s merry words, Olbron looked up from the fire, at which he’d been gazing at for a solid five minutes, and returned to the world around him. I urged my grumpy muscles to sit up a little straighter, but the only thing I could coax out of my blasted body was a half-assed yawn and a cat stretch. _Might as well save up on my real manners for when those dratted Southern nobles come up here for once._ In the brief moment of silence as everyone prepared for the night ahead, I wondered if our Southern brothers even knew of our existence.

“You speak true, Iarwain,” Olbron sighed, bringing us all back into the conversation at hand “Our journey has left us weary beyond belief. Much has been weighing on mine and my sister’s minds since we last took council.”

I nodded at my brother’s words, and added, “Arthelan has nearly doubled in size from refugees fleeing the edges of the Misty Mountains. Many farmers and their families have built themselves homes, or have set up camp on our borders, hoping that we will be able to provide them the protection they so desperately seek.”

“But our numbers are growing thinner by the year.” Olbron said, his wide mouth stretched out into a frustrated frown.

“Less and less do your kin cross my threshold, yes.” Tom replied, “A queer wind does blow from the North, these days, and one all the more foul from the East. Barrow Wights are waking upon their stony beds, and evil things walk my lands unhindered.”

“For that, we apologize,” Olbron said, nodding solemnly at the news, “There are too many miles in this fair country for our people to watch over constantly. My sister and I have not stopped moving for five years now. We hardly have time to even speak with the townsfolk and farmers of the hamlets we pass by.”

“Of failing crops, you would hear,” Bombadil said, “And of starless nights.”

“So you have heard from those outside your bounds?” I asked, sitting up a little straighter.

“Tom has many eyes and ears, Istuinn the Swift, and many mouths as well!”

Olbron looked at me, a hopeful glint in his eyes. Today’s conversation was going unnaturally well. After a moment of consideration, he said,

“Please, tell us what you have heard - if you do not mind of course.”

So, for a long hour, Olbron and I listened attentively to the knowledge Bombadil had gathered through his many friends on the outside. Some was hopeful, such as the prediction from the many wintering beasts in these parts that the winter months would not be any harsher than normal. However, most of the news was more than concerning. The wolf packs had grown large in number and size these past two years, and as a result the deer that sustained many of the northern hamlets were running sparse. And worse yet, a whole manner of birds and beasts were fleeing the edges of the Misty Mountains just like the refugees that had gathered on our borders, and there was rumour that a host of Orcs had been gathering underneath the glaciered peaks this past decade. That last bit of news was not so much of a surprise to Olbron and I, for our villages had been raided more times these past five years than we could count.

At last, Tom’s voice fell quiet, and for a solemn ten minutes the three of us sat in contemplative silence. I could hear Goldberry moving around upstairs, footfalls soft and measured upon the wooden slats. For a moment, I wondered why she did not join these meetings herself.

What pervaded my mind most was a quiet anxiety, lessened in part by the calm aura that saturated Bombadil’s home. Part of me wished terribly for soothing words, for our collective fears to be proven foolish and overindulged. But I knew as well as any other Ranger worth their salt that a darkness was settling over Middle Earth, and to ignore that was true foolishness indeed. What we truly needed were more swords but as Olbron had explained to Bombadil, our numbers had shrunk over the decades as the winters grew colder and once-sheltered villages more dangerous. Fewer children were being born, and fewer fathers and husbands were returning home from patrol. Halbarad had tossed around the idea of asking aid of our Southern brethren, but other than Aragorn, none of us had had any sort of contact with Gondor for a long stretch, and it was common knowledge now that they faced greater troubles of their own. Bombadil’s words only confirmed my anxieties, and on their heels came ever more questions and wonderings about how our scarce people could survive the Darkness rising from the East. Uncertainty was threatening to swallow me whole, and a pang of momentary guilt passed over me when I realized that I would be leaving Bombadil with more questions than I’d arrived. And I’d promised Halbarad answers.

“The air is not yet clear, my wandering friends. Questions take up the glasses of your sight, and I do wish to hear them now, for pondering upon them in my own bed will make a sleepless night for me!” Tom finally exclaimed, breaking the silent spell upon the room. Olbron and I looked up from our private musings and exchanged a short glance, gauging which one of us wanted to broach the topic first. I raised my eyebrows a little in an attempt to convey him to take the first move, knowing that with his golden tongue he would be able to introduce it a little more delicately.

“On behalf of the rest of our kindred, we would like to ask for your aid. While we are not entirely sure just yet on what grounds, help of any kind is desperately needed. Whether it be by sheltering the vulnerable on your lands, or by using your spells on our enemies-“

Olbron quickly fell silent when Tom raised his hand for silence. Those electric eyes flashed between us for a few moments, curious, merry, and yet awfully calculating, as if he were trying to discern our very thoughts from gaze alone.

“Your pride is great, but here your need is greater,” Bombadil started, “but even so, such help is not an offer I have to give. Though they be under my care, these lands are not as safe as Rangers may hope, and the power of my song is but a trifle against the East.”

To say it lightly, Olbron and I were stunned by this response. In all our minds, Tom Bombadil, though somewhat removed from the passing years of our vast country, would be among the first to lend whatever helping hand he could. This blatant refusal had barely been accounted for, and with alarm, I noticed a little spark of anger start in my heart.

“Our people are dying. Just one week prior, we came across yet another abandoned village, up by Lake Evendim. There used to be three dozen Dunedain upon those shores, and now they have disappeared, with not even a drop of blood to hint at their passing.” Olbron said in an attempt to convince Tom to reconsider. But, the Ageless man only shook his head,

“Your friends are no more, dear Rangers. They have passed like leaves caught in the swirl of a deepening stream. Such a fate all creatures of this earth will meet, when their time comes.”

The spark of anger caught at those words, and I was nearly consumed by a white-hot rage. Standing up, and nearly knocking the chair over in the process, I pointed my finger at the bushy-bearded man before me in accusation,

“How can you be so indifferent to our peril? How can you just continue on with your senseless songs when our very lives are being threatened every day by the Shadow in the East?”

Bombadil’s eyes took on a chilly quality, and the air became charge, as if a bolt of lightning was about to strike down upon the sitting room.

“Do not utter such foolish thoughts, or banter out such untrue words. To say Tom is careless is to lie.”

I could just feel my body tense up in anger, and for a split second a red haze clouded my vision before Olbron could stand up and guide me back into my seat. He sat back down, and with a restraining hand on my shoulder, looked back to Bombadil with both apology and sincerity in his eyes,

“Do not tell me you cannot feel it.” He pleaded, voice gentle, “Even the Sun’s energy is waning. Can you not feel the decay in your bones? In your heart?”

With a gentle sigh, Bombadil’s ageless eyes focused upon the glowing embers of the dying fire, and stayed there for what felt like hours. Olbron squeezed my shoulder, and I looked up at him, eyes shooting daggers.

“Breathe.” He mouthed. My glare ceased just a bit, and I rolled my eyes at my poor brother, but I took heed of his advice, and drew in a long breath. With just one exhale, I could feel my jaw unclench, and after a few more breaths, my muscles relaxed enough to where I didn’t feel like a coiled spring.

But I was still impatient as ever.

Bombadil was still contemplating our words, eyes far removed from this world, hand tapping along to some silent rhythm on the armrest of his chair. All I wanted at this moment was to go to bed, to lay my head down on a soft pillow and just be dead to the world for one night, but with the way this conversation was going, I doubted there would be much time for sleep tonight.

“Iarwain. Please.” Olbron whispered, concerned eyes trained on the studious figure. Bombadil’s tapping ceased, and he removed his gaze from the fire. Not a single twinkle could be seen in those eyes, eyes that normally held an endless well of mirth.

“I do know, and I do feel, but I can do naught. I can only watch, and listen, and let this world choose her own course. I cannot help you.”

Without song or rhythm, Tom’s voice was as old as the gnarled roots of the very mountains themselves. My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach, as if weighed down with corroded lead, and the room itself breathed a long, weary sigh.

“But do not be without hope, young Rangers,” Tom started again, and that beguiling glint in his eyes returned, “For there be forces at work that may yet turn the tide in your favour.”

Olbron and I first looked to each other; hope glowing upon our faces, then turned back to a smiling Bombadil.

“Naught three days past, four Shire-folk came a-wandering down the Withywindle carrying a curious treasure.”

“Shire-folk?” I asked, surprise colouring my voice.

“Yes! Four curly heads, I counted, and four weary hearts. To Bree, they are walking, and further on to Imladris, if their feet will take them.”

“But whatever for? I have heard tell of only one Hobbit who has made the journey to Imladris, and that was nigh sixty years past.” Olbron said, unable to hide his curiosity.

“And it is said Hobbit’s nephew who carries the pretty little trinket itself. Frodo, one who is Elf-friend, has been tasked with this perilous journey, and the treasure he carries could very well shape the future of this Green earth. In my very palm did he place it, and it was a curious thing indeed! They came from great danger, and it is into great danger that they walk. But worry not of them! Their paths are different from yours, for everyone shall have a part to play in the coming months.”

“So, where do we fit in?” I asked, feeling not so much hopeful at this point than cynical.

“That is for you to decide, Istuinn. Do not fear the twisting paths of your future, for there is ever a road beneath your feet, and friends along the way. Perhaps yours shall cross with those who carry destiny upon their shoulders, perhaps it will not. And, perhaps, you carry your own destiny, though it may be unknown to you now.”

I ruminated on his words for a moment, and when no smart or sensible reply came to mind, I looked to Olbron to finish the conversation. I could feel the Night’s age in my weary bones, and in the grate the fire had burned down to a mere scattering of glowing embers.

“We thank you for your council, Bombadil. On many issues our minds can now rest easy.”

Bombadil nodded, “And to you, old friends, I must extend my own thanks. Worse things would stalk these fair lands if it were not for your ardour! Eriador thanks you. “ And then, with one glimpse out at the Night sky, he jumped up from his seat, “My, how late we have talked, and how low bright Ithil rides! She is weary of her travels, and so are you. Please, take to your beds and find there the rest that you so desperately seek. There are soft down pillows there for your troubled heads, and water for washing the cares of your travels away. Sleep sound sleeps until dawn’s wholesome light, and heed no nightly noises!” And with those last merry words he motioned with a wave of his weathered hand for us to follow him. Holding the last of the lighted candles aloft, he led us through the dark house into a low-ceilinged room. Upon the cool stone floor lay four feather mattresses, and in the furthest corner stood a large earthenware tub filled to the brim with clear rainwater.

We quietly thanked Bombadil, and retired to our beds without another thought. A safe, wholesome dark settled into the room when the light of his candle faded down the hallway, and as I burrowed beneath the down comforter (having only bothered to remove my boots and leather jerkin), a great weariness fell upon my limbs. Already, Olbron was snoring away on my left, and to that peaceful, familiar sound, I too soon found myself fading into a world of sleep and dreams.


	3. Trepidation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today we learn more details on Istuinn and Halbarad's relationship, and the plot thickens as our rangers follow in the footsteps of Aragorn and the Halflings.

A merry morning dawned, golden and carefree, upon the bean-rows and huckleberries that grew abundantly in Bombadil’s garden. Through the shutters the fair light glowed, filling the room in which Olbron and I slept with luminescent gold. With a muffled groan, I lifted myself from the down pillow and grimaced at the little puddle of drool left behind. Olbron was still sleeping away in the bed to my right, chest rising and falling beneath a dandy quilt.

Despite a good night’s rest my muscles and bones still ached from months of travel, and before my much looked to morning bath I performed a few stretches upon the cool tile floor. Bending down into a very forced forward fold, my back let out a few ear-splitting pops and cracks, and I let out a relieved sigh as it released all tension.

“Ah, what a grand idea.”

I looked up to see Olbron watching me from his bed, eyes dozy with sleep.

“You know, if you did this every morning, your back wouldn’t ache so.”

He let out a long sigh and sat up, "Oh, I know," he raised his arms over his head in a long stretch, "but often there is so much else to do that I forget."

“Fair. Do you mind if I take the first bath?”

"Not at all. I was planning on taking a walk in the gardens before breaking our fast. Let out a holler when you finish.”

I continued to stretch while Olbron dug around in his saddlebags for a clean tunic. Beneath the clinking and clacking of salve tins and earthenware bowls, I could hear his quiet curses as he rummaged around for what felt like an age of the earth.

“I have a few fresh tunics in my saddlebags, brother.” I offered, having grown impatient, “I think I must have stolen them from you at some point. Either way, they’ll fit.”

“Thank you.” He muttered under his breath, and after two seconds of searching through my bags, found a pale blue tunic to his liking and stalked out of the room. With him gone, I removed my tunic, much wrinkled with sleep and wear, along with my only pair of breeches. Frowning, I eyed the many patches and frays that marked the faded brown wool. I knew that I would need to replace them soon, along with a few of my older undershirts, but that would involve returning to the Angle. _You’ll need to return eventually,_ I thought, _you cannot run from him any longer._ Even though Olbron and I had been on the road for a good year now, the thought of returning to the Angle, to Halbarad, set a nervous fire burning in my belly. While Olbron had tired of the constant travel, of the stale bread, and the comfortless nights, I took a strange solace in them. While it was an uncomfortable life, it was a free one, and if I returned too soon to my home, that freedom could be taken away from me.

Before stepping into the bath, I slid out of my light cotton undershirt and removed the bindings around my chest. Once again, a frown marred my face as I judged the flat condition of my breasts. After having been bound for countless years, they were misshapen and far from attractive. _As if a spinster such as you should worry about the shape of her body,_ I chided myself, stepping into the tub, _such thoughts are foolish and only serve to waste your time._ But once again, Halbarad’s image swam up from the depths of my memories, those warm grey eyes of his holding a silent pleading, a tenderness that both wrenched at my heart.

With a final shake of my head, as if it would help to remove the infuriating man from my mind’s eye, I lowered myself into the cool water of the tub. Immediately, I felt cleaner, and the longer I scrubbed at the dirt, grime, and sweat that had gathered on my body, the clearer my head became.

_Perhaps it is time to surrender._

“Istuinn? Are you finished?”

In a serious of splashes, I hurriedly jumped up out of the bath and snatched my undershirt to cover myself. Olbron was peering in from the window, pretending he hadn’t just seen his twin sister completely naked and as soaked as a water-rat.

“Yes. I am. I will be dressed and out of your hair momentarily.”

“You’ve been strangely compliant this morning.” He stated, watching me with searching eyes, “are you feeling somewhat ill?”

I rolled my eyes, “of course not, _dear_ brother of mine. I just thought that after last night I would extend my apologies in the form of being agreeable for a few hours. If you are this disturbed by it, however, I will gladly stop. The amount of energy it takes not to quarrel with you is quite draining.”

“Ah, there she is!” Olbron exclaimed, and I listened with a shake of my head as his steps fell away from the window and went along the side of the house. _What an insufferable brat_ I thought, not without a bit of love of course. I quickly dried myself off with one of the wool towels laid out for us and shimmied into my breeches, grimacing as the cloth stuck to my still damp skin.

I’d only just finished putting on my breeches and wrapping my chest with the linen bindings when Olbron walked through the bedroom door behind me. A pensive frown tugged at his lips as he surveyed the bathwater I’d spilled across the tiled floor, but I knew what it was directed at.

“Why do you still do that to yourself, sister? Every man between the Misty Mountains and the Shire knows of your womanhood.”

I was right. “Because.”

Olbron shook his head, annoyed at my short answer, “I do not understand.”

I sent him a glare over my shoulder, “understand what?”

“Why you keep running.”

Movements short and aggressive, I pulled my last clean tunic over my head and shoved my arms into the faded green sleeves. I could feel his eyes piercing my back as I nimbly braided my unruly hair into a short rope that fell between my shoulder blades.

I tried to escape past him and into Bombadil’s dining room, but he grabbed my shoulder and spun me around to face him. For a few minutes we just glared at each other, his high forehead marred with frown lines, wide mouth pulled into a straight, tight-lipped line. I marveled at how different my features looked upon a male face, how on him our straight nose appeared noble, and our pronounced cheekbones handsome. In a moment of jealousy, I envied my brother, but the feeling quickly faded as his glare relaxed into a look of concern. At last, I caved,

“I run because I fear what returning to Arthelan implies. I flee because I know in my heart that if Halbarad does what I think he is planning to do on our return, I’ll never be able to run again.”

Olbron took a gentle step away from me, green eyes locked on the floor in thought. I knew that he was attempting to tease out some sort of unimplied meaning from my words, some hint of the true reasoning behind my hesitancy. In the heavy silence that followed, the simultaneous growling of our stomachs was thunderous. We couldn’t help the strained chuckles that followed, and with a releasing sigh and better humour, my brother linked his elbow with mine,

“Come, we’ll continue this discussion on our way to Bree. Tom and Goldberry are awaiting us.”

And so, we passed through the doorway, eagerly anticipating one of Goldberry’s signature breakfasts. But even as we broke our fast and conversed with our generous hosts in the cheerful morning sunlight, a little worm of dread coiled about my heart as I thought about what lay beyond Bree.

Home.

The sun was flirting with a few scudding clouds in the wintery blue sky as we cantered up the Greenway, having successfully passed through the Barrow Downs in the light of day. The weather was fair enough, the air crisp and refreshing with a slight westerly breeze that carried with it the scent of fields burning in preparation for winter. A scent I would have ordinarily relished in if it weren't for the infuriating discussion turned argument that Olbron and I had been circling around since leaving Bombadil's homestead.

“You know full well that Halbarad has ever held you in his heart, and in high esteem. He trusts in you enough to let you pursue this fixation of yours.”

“Would he though?” I argued, “Or would his fear of me disappearing just like father keep me chained ever to his side, never to know the truth? This is our father I am talking about, Olbron, not just some ‘fixation’. Do you not care what happened to him in the Southlands? Why he never came home?” 

Olbron bit the inside of his cheek in quiet irritation and I knew that I had hit a sore spot. Eyes pointedly trained on the road that we followed, he replied with just a hint of vexation, “of course I care. Do you not think that I, too, have spent countless sleepless nights wondering where under the stars his body lay? Wondering if those stories he used to tell of getting entangled with smuggler ships in the southern seas were true, and perhaps the seed of his undoing? I have been impacted by his disappearance just as much as you, Istuinn. This is a grief we must share, though you seem to want to forget that.”

I rolled my eyes in an attempt to mask the hurt sparked by his comment and turned away to survey the stubbled fields that extended past the Greenway, harvested and ready for their winter’s rest beneath the soon to come frost. An uneasy silence stretched between us, so thick and poignant I could have cut it with a knife. Olbron rarely used his golden tongue to cause harm, even with me, and I could tell he knew that his comment had cut me to the bone. I was the one known for causing harm with my words, not he; my hot-headedness well-renowned amongst our brethren. Olbron was ever the water to douse the flames I sparked, the one to soothe the tongue-lashings I was known to give to town councils and young recruits alike when I regarded their actions as foolish and dangerous, especially when one single misstep or wrong decision could lead to an entire village being raised in an orc-raid.

For him to lash out like me, to cut that deep, signified that old wounds were opening again. And with a start, I realized why. It was thirty years this Fall that our father had left for Dol Amroth, never to return. Thirty years of not knowing, of desperately hunting for any clue that could point me to his whereabouts. I often dreamt of the two of us following our father’s footsteps southwards to discover what truth we could, but Olbron remained steadfast in his duty to Aragorn and the Dunedain, and so I had to as well. He knew that I resented him for his resolve.

And Halbarad would only bind me further.

_Am I selfish in this desire to leave?_

“You love him, don’t you? That is what truly frightens you.”

I ripped my eyes off the boundless horizon and fixed Olbron with a dangerous glare. His eyes met mine, gaze cool and knowing.

“I am not talking about this anymore,” I growled. Now it was Olbron who rolled his eyes. “Besides, should we not be discussing what Bombadil said last night? He basically confirmed that the entire settlement of Lake Evendim was slain. Any theories as to how that could have happened while leaving the village itself intact? I sensed no bloodshed when we passed through.”

Olbron shrugged, “I have a few theories. We should wait until Bree – Amhrod may have heard some rumours last night.”

Sensing his desire to be silent, I nodded in assent and continued to watch the countryside sweep past. The landscape became increasingly hilly as we rode into Breeland, and homesteads began to dot the heather-topped hillsides. The rising breeze now carried with it the scent of chimney smoke and peat, with the occasional whiff of goats and sheep manure. I attempted to focus my attention on the sights, smells, and sounds about us, the elements of this material world, to escape the consuming anxiety growing in my mind. Like a thick black cloud of flies, it was, buzzing and biting and demanding my attention. I took a deep steadying breath and attempted to smile at the rugged-faced farmer driving his wagon past us, heading the opposite way towards home. By the wary look on his face, I could tell that it had come out as more of a pained grimace.

_I am **not** in love with Halbarad. I cannot allow myself to get caught up in the foolish girlhood dreams from my past. I need to stay focused._

Needless to say, I was glad to see Breetown rising up before us a couple of hours later, the massive breadth of the hill black against the darkening indigo sky. Warm candlelight glowed from numerous windows dotting the hillside and from the lamps carried by farmwives and countryfolk passing us on the road, wheeling home their wares for the night in sturdy wagons drawn by oxen and mule. It felt somewhat confronting to be surrounded by the smells of mankind again after so many months spent in the bush, but I welcomed it eagerly knowing that I would soon be seated in the Prancing Pony by a warm fire with a mug of good ale in my grasp. A promising distraction from the glares volleyed at us by every man and woman we passed.

By the time Varda’s mantle began to wink in the violet folds of the sky, Olbron and I reached the Southern gate. Halefael snorted as I led her through, ears pinned back, and I watched the swarthy gatekeeper out of the corner of my eye as we passed by, searching his face for the source of my steed's discomfort. With a scowl, he closed the gates behind us and returned to a small, dingy shack hunched behind the sturdy town walls.

"That man had an ill-favoured look," Olbron muttered, his first words to me since our argument on the road. I drew my horse up beside his as we rounded the corner towards the town center, throwing one last cautionary glance behind us to see if we were being followed,

“Doesn’t he always?”

Nothing could be seen skulking in the shadows cast by the buildings behind us, but I could not ignore the itch between my shoulder blades that warned me of being watched.

At last, we reined our weary steeds in next to the stables of the Prancing Pony, and I noted that they were emptier than they should have been this time of year after harvest. Grizzled men and chatty halflings passed in and out of the ever-swinging door, silhouettes long in the golden light that spilled from the doorway and the inn’s many glass windows. I guarded the horses while Olbron spoke to Butterbur inside, ears trained on the riotous laughter that came sprawling into the night air every time the door opened. Bree’s main square was still busy this time of evening, with merchants and farmwives packing up their trading booths and the odd courtesan here or there fishing for her first client of the night. A pretty young woman clad in a low cut dress that emphasized her swelling bust, hair curled in tight golden ringlets, gave me an inviting red-lipped smile from across the cobbled street. I responded with a faint shake of my head and instead turned my attention to a weathered crone hobbling past me, her small hand-pulled wagon laden with apples. She pressed one of the ruby-red fruits into my palm with a toothy grin before disappearing into the shadows. I took a ravenous bite, appetite stoked by the smells of roast mutton and potatoes wafting from the inn, and silently willed Olbron to hurry up.

As if summoned by my thoughts, he pushed past a few of the farmers standing in the doorway and pointed at my prize, “and where did you get that?”

"From an opportunity that has already passed you by," I said, giving my brother a half-assed smirk before taking a taunting bite. He ignored my goading and started to unstrap his saddlebags with a pensive frown.

“Butterbur has given us the room above the stables. There is a whole lot of talk going on in there, and I’ve never seen him act so high-strung. All bows and wringing hands he was, wouldn’t meet my eyes either. Something is wrong, Istuinn.”

I eyed the doorway again, this time noticing the defensive glares being thrown at us by a group of exiting farmhands. They pulled their rough spun woolen coats tighter around their bodies and hurried past us down the shadowed lane, muttering under their breath with the occasional backward glance.

“Did you notice the stares we got on the Greenway, too?” He breathed, watching cautiously as they melted into the shadows. I nodded,

“I did not think much of it, though. But now I am wondering. Did you see Amhrod in there, by chance?”

“Butterbur told me he is waiting in one of the private dining rooms for us. We should hurry, the longer I stand out here in the dark the more I worry about a blade being slipped between my ribs.”

With practiced haste, Olbron and I unstrapped our saddlebags and bedrolls from our uneasy steeds and turned them over to Bob, who stared up at us with wide eyes and a somewhat strained smile. I pressed a silver coin into his palm before he led the horses deeper into the stables, curly head barely brushing their mud-stained underbellies. With a steadying breath, I walked up the few short steps towards the Prancing Pony’s entrance and stepped inside.

Warm, stifling air thick with the smell of pipeweed and ale enveloped us as we moved into the common room. Small groups of farmers and townsfolk were clustered about the wood-panelled bar and stone fireplace, mugs and pipes in hand and voices low. A few cast brief glances our way but most were absorbed in conversation. I was more than familiar with the atmosphere of the room – I’d felt it in homes and halls in the aftermath of battle. The incongruity caused the hair on the back of my neck and arms to rise.

Nob approached us from the bar, muttering under his breath as he eyed the mud we had tracked in from the stable yard. With a brisk wave of his hand, he led us down a dimly lit hallway off the common room and towards a sturdy wooden door inlaid with iron scrollwork.

“Now now, not the neck Myrrah, you _know_ I’m ticklish there…”

“Oh for the love of-“ The words were already escaping my mouth as I opened the door to see Amhrod sprawled in an armchair by the fireplace with a comely serving-girl perched on his lap, corset half undone at the front and dark hair all a mess. His eyes were closed in cat-like pleasure as she nimbly unbuckled his breeches, all the while planting kisses down his neck.

“Ahem. I will be by shortly with your dinner. Same as always. Myyrah, I will need your assistance in carrying the trays?”

Myyrah squeaked in alarm and shot up from Amhrod’s lap, hands fluttering to tie up her corset and straighten out her curls.

“Yes, Nob sir. Of course, Nob sir. My apologies. I will be present shortly.” Flustered and burning bright red, she scurried from the room as Nob harrumphed in disapproval at Amhrod. The young ranger straightened himself out and gave us a bashful smile.

“Really?” I asked once Nob had made his exit.

“Just thought I’d have a bit of fun while I waited on you two laggards.”

I crossed my arms and cocked an eyebrow. The younger ranger gulped.

“Never mind that,” Olbron muttered, shaking his head and dumping his saddlebags onto an empty chair by the door, “what in Arda happened last night? You must have started one hell of a quarrel, half of the rooms in this place are empty, and yet I had to barter for the throwaway one overtop the stables.”

Amhrod's expression turned from sheepish to defensive, "nothing I was involved in – at least not directly." I took a step closer, arms still crossed. He raised his hands in defense,

“No, really! Look, I didn’t ask to be involved in Aragorn’s harebrained scheme to camp out in the parlour with four hobbits – a disappearing hobbit, mind you! Especially with them being chased by those… those _things_ from the other night.”

A wave of cold nausea overtook me at his mention of the screamers, momentarily distracting me from his mention of Aragorn. I braced myself on the armchair across him and watched as his normally rosy cheeks turned pale as milk.

“Wait. Aragorn was here?” Olbron asked, being the first to recover from the chill that had settled across the room. Amhrod nodded, but before he could continue, Nob and Myyrah strode into the room bearing a small platter of bread and cheese, as well as three earthenware bowls of mutton stew. Another manservant came behind them with mugs of ale from the bar, and they quietly set the table while we stood aside by the fire. Neither Nob nor the manservant acknowledged us before leaving, but Myyrah managed to sneak a wink at Amhrod as she floated last back into the corridor, hips swaying.

We took our seats around the table but left the food untouched, despite our rumbling bellies.

“You were saying?” I prompted, eyeing Amhrod as he took a long draught of ale.

“Right. I might as well start from the beginning. Not long after I arrived, four travel-weary halflings – Shirefolk – came into the inn stinking of fear. I recognized one of them, must have been a Took as they’re the only ones who wander much outside their borders. Anyways, they holed up for some time in the parlour across the corridor, feasting likely, but sure enough three came out all rosy-cheeked and tipsy. Talked amongst the local halflings mostly, I did not pay them any mind as I was speaking with a few merchants who’d come up the Greenway – more trouble in the South, it seems.”

“We can discuss that after,” Olbron interrupted, “you were saying about these halflings?”

“Well, one of the young fellows got up on the table and started up a song, that one about the Man in the Moon you like so much, Olbron – soon enough he had the whole inn going, laughing and singing along. He was doing a funny little jig and must have slipped on the table. I thought he’d just crash down on the floor and set the inn roaring, but he just… disappeared.”

“What do you mean, disappeared?” I asked, disbelief colouring my voice.

“He just… vanished. Out of thin air. Gone. Whole inn went silent, and then I noticed Aragorn in the corner, staring right at me. I really should have noticed him the moment I got there, but you know how he is. And as soon as he disappeared, the halfling popped up again right under Aragorn’s nose. They spoke briefly, and when the halfling wandered back into the firelight for all to see, Aragorn summoned me over. Asked me to keep watch on the parlour for the night in here, he did, knowing full well that it had been months since I’d lain in a proper feather bed. I tried to ask why, and what business he had with the Shirefolk, but he just asked me to mind my own and do as he said, that all would be explained later.”

I shook my head and turned to Olbron, who was regarding Amhrod with an incredulous stare.

“Sometime in the night, I heard those wails again, and not so far off as I would have liked. There was a loud bang in one of the bedrooms just down the hall. I sat here in the doorway and just listened; weapons drawn if they managed to break down the door. Everything went quiet for a while, and I got up the nerve to poke my head in – the whole room had been ripped to shreds, mattresses and all. Aragorn was wide awake in the parlour, halflings sleeping all around him, when I alerted him – he did not look all too surprised. They left early the next morning, but not without notice. Half the stable was let loose too, Butterbur’s men have been out searching for the loose horses all afternoon.”

“Did he tell you where he was going?” Olbron asked. Amhrod shook his head,

“No, but my guess is that he is heading towards Rivendell. Before he left, he gave me a letter to be delivered to Elrond himself. Asked me to ride with as much haste as I could and - “

“Then why are you still here, you fool?” I interrupted, voice rising in anger, “when Aragorn gives you an order, you know better than to sit here like a lump and dally the serving girls.”

“Istuinn,” Amhrod began in a pleading tone, “I had to wait for you two, didn’t I? I couldn’t have done that stretch alone, not now. The Southerners I spoke to, they said that any solo traveller was asking to be attacked by bandits, or worse.”

"Give it here, then," Olbron said, standing up and holding out his hand.

“What do you mean?”

“I said give it here. I am the fastest rider of the three of us. Obviously, this letter is of importance, otherwise Aragorn would not have handed it off to you of all people. I could easily make up for the time you wasted waiting for us.”

“At least finish your supper, Olbron.” I chided, having realized that none of us had touched our suppers yet.

“I can eat on the road. Hand me a bit of that cheese, would you?”

I cut off a good two-thirds of the half-moon and wrapped it in a bit of cloth, and did the same with most of the bread, too. Amhrod frowned as I handed it over to Olbron, who quickly squirreled it away in his saddlebags.

“Oh, stop your frowning, we can split his stew between us. That should be more than enough.”

“Are you sure about this? You’ve been riding all day. We should all rest up and leave tomorrow morning, together.” Amhrod said, worry creasing his brow.

“I will be fine, you’ve wasted enough time already.” Olbron said, now standing ready by the door, “right then. Will you two be making for Arthelan in the morning?” All exhaustion that had previously lined his face had disappeared, replaced by a staunch determination. But beneath his strong exterior, there was a hint of trepidation in his green eyes.

“Yes. Halbarad should be alerted so that a guard can be placed on all major routes between here and Rivendell. Aragorn is being followed, no doubt. And there is Bombadil’s reply to discuss as well,” I hesitated, then stood and walked up to him, placing a comforting hand on his broad shoulder, “may you ride safely, brother. Please send word when you arrive.”

Olbron nodded, and with a swift embrace and kiss on the top of my head, stalked out into the corridor.

Amhrod’s chair creaked beneath his weight as he sat back down at the table, head in his hands.

“Let us hope he can outrun whatever evil stalks our lands,” I said, and took my seat as well, feeling a great heaviness that had nothing to do with exhaustion descend upon my shoulders. I grabbed Olbron’s untouched bowl of stew, already congealing, and split it between mine and Amhrod’s bowls.

We ate and drank in silence.

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:   
> Aa' menle nauva calen ar' ta hwesta e' ale'quenle - "May thy paths be green and the breeze on thy back"


End file.
